


I Didn't Think It Was Possible

by iamthececimonster



Series: Possibilities [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Minor Character, One Shot, That's right, guess who wrote an entire fic about a character that had like two lines?, it was me, just fluff, shameless fluff, very minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 04:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthececimonster/pseuds/iamthececimonster
Summary: Mickey's been thinking about marrying Ian since the night he came out at the Alibi, since that cop told an angry and struggling Mickey that he just wanted to "get home to my husband." He's done the impossible, he's proposed to Ian. Now what?





	I Didn't Think It Was Possible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadlymilkovich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlymilkovich/gifts).

> Listen. I just. That cop is super important to me? I know he had like 2 lines. I know. I'm not even sorry. This is super short and probably really awkward and totally unedited and I refuse to apologize for any of this. 
> 
> As mentioned, totally unbeta'd.

The hard part was done. Well, sort of. Mandy had said it was the hard part, but now, Mickey wasn’t so sure. Either way, it was done. He had proposed to Gallagher. Quietly, over dinner in their shitty apartment, with a gunmetal silver band that Ian was now insisting was “the perfect wedding ring,” and trying to find another so Mickey could wear it after they got married. The look on the redhead’s face when Mickey stumbled over the words “Will you marry me” was...let’s just say Mickey was never going to forget that smile. 

And he’s been thinking about it for approximately forever. Asking Ian to marry him. Since the night of his rather dramatic coming out event at the Alibi, Mickey’s been thinking about Ian being his husband. He remembers that whole night in terrifying Technicolor. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes on bad nights, he sees the look on Terry’s face as he came crashing towards him in the bar. But there’s another part that he likes to remember better. 

***

_ “As for you, you’re free to go.” The old cop uncuffed Mickey, breathing heavy under the weight of the winter snow and trying to stop a fighting Milkovich.  _

_ “What?” Mickey rotated his wrists and breathed out, confused.  _

_ “If I arrest you, it’s gonna be a lot of paperwork.” The cop’s voice was pointed, direct. Mickey squinted through the blood fogging his vision. His badge read Lenny. “Keep me in the office all night. I’d rather get home to my husband, Carlos.” _

_ Mickey just stood there as the cop walked off without another word. Just stood there, breathing, trying to catch his breath, slow his racing heart, and process the words “get home to my husband, Carlos” ringing around in his brain. My husband, Carlos. My husband. Then Gallagher was flipping the cop car with Terry in it the bird and walking towards Mickey and Mickey’s head was still reeling with, “my husband my husband get home to my husband,” so he smiled back to the redhead even though his split lip protested and both of them were covered in blood. _

***

The entire world had flipped on its head approximately 6 dozen times since Officer Lenny had said those words to Mickey in the cold Chicago night outside of a bar where he announced to his father, all the patrons, half a Chicago PD precinct, and much of the street that he was gay and Ian rocked his world. They were a lot less covered in blood these days, Terry was dead in the ground somewhere, and they didn’t spend nearly as much time at the Alibi anymore. But Mickey was still very gay, Ian still very much rocked his entire world, and every time he saw Ian’s smile when he walked through the crooked front door of their shitty apartment, his head reeled with  _ my husband my husband get home to my husband. _ So, he finally nutted up and proposed. Ian immediately said yes, green eyes lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, and then fallen over himself covering Mickey’s body with his own. 

But now? They were planning this damn wedding. Something small, because it wasn’t like they had a whole lot of spare money sitting around, and to be honest, if Mickey thought they could get away with it, he’d just suggest they go down to the courthouse and tell no one. He knew better. Between his sister and the entire Gallagher clan, they’d be killed in their sleep if they even tried. So they actually had to invite people.

That’s what got Mickey thinking. Who the hell was he supposed to invite? Mandy, obviously. Svetlana and the kid would be there, of course. Iggy, he’d invite Iggy, and if Iggy remembered, he’d show up. Mickey had one or two friends at the shop who might show up if he told them there’d be free booze. Ian, though? His sister was flying back to Chicago for the event. His entire family, all 5 siblings and their various significant others, plus the Bell family, would be there regardless of whether or not Ian invited them. Fiona had cried, she was so proud. And she was the closest thing to a parent Ian had. Mickey didn’t have that. And he wanted to tell somebody, tell somebody that was going to be proud of him the way Fiona was proud of Ian. He didn’t like to think about it too hard, because it made him feel a little woozy, but his therapist told him it was normal. He was seeing a therapist these days. 

  
  


Sometimes, thinking about all the changes made him feel dizzy. 

***

“So, how have you been dealing with the stress of wedding planning?” His therapist asked, in her direct and quiet way.

Mickey thought about it for a second. “It’s fine. It’s mostly just making sure everybody’s free. We’re not like...I mean I think Debs and Mandy are making some kind of cake, but that’s kind of it. I’ve been thinking about this shit for forever. I just want him to be my husband.”

The therapist smiled at that. “How long is for forever?”

Mickey licked his lip, the phantom of a split lip reminding him. “Since I knew I could?”

The therapist just raised her eyebrow.

Mickey nodded. “Right, well, I told you about my whole ‘coming out’ thing?”

She nodded. 

“There was this cop, after, right? The other guys shoved my...they shoved Terry in the car, and the cop who had me, he uncuffed me, right? And he just real casually tells me that he’s not arresting me, cuz it would take too long and he wanted to go home to his husband, Carlos. And then he walked away, and I just saw Ian standing there and my brain just kept thinking, you know? Husband. Home. Ian.” Mickey shrugged. “I don’t think I knew I could get married before that.” 

The therapist had a soft smile on her face. “That cop probably knew that, you know? When he told you that he was going home to his husband.” 

Mickey nodded. He had figured, if he was honest, that was probably the case. That that old man knew exactly what he was doing. 

***

He never thought he’d be here. Never thought he’d have this chance, looking for a wedding ring with Ian Gallagher in a drafty apartment that was almost never clean enough. But here they were, with warm sheets and food in the fridge and a schedule on the calendar that included Yev’s baseball game on Saturday and Svet’s doctor’s appointment the next week. And Mickey just keeps thinking.  _ My husband my husband get home to my husband.  _

So the next day, he bites the bullet and walks to the precinct closest to the Alibi. A young cop who never knew Mickey when he was constantly in trouble with the law sees him and looks a little confused, maybe a little worried. Mickey’s probably scowling, but he’s never willingly walked into a police station in his entire goddamn life so pardon him if he’s feeling a little tense. He forces himself to school his expression, take a deep breath, and calm the fuck down. And he walks up to the officer starting to approach him. 

“Listen. I need help finding an officer. I don’t know if he even works here anymore, but it’s really important.” Mickey’s honestly not sure what he’s going to do if the kid says no. 

But the kid just relaxes a little. “Is there any specifics?”

Are there ever. “His name was Officer Lenny. He responded to a public disturbance at the Alibi on…” 

The kid is remarkably helpful. And when he realizes that Mickey is the same Mikhailo Milkovich who almost got beat to death by Terry Milkovich that day, he’s even more helpful. And it turns out that old Officer Lenny is retired now, but still lives in Chicago. Still on the South Side, in a nice little condo in a nicer part of town.

  
  


So, on a day when Ian’s working a late shift and the kid is out with his friends, Mickey buys a bottle of nice-ish whiskey, puts on a button down shirt, and takes the bus across town to the condo. He knocks on the door, still not exactly sure what he’s doing here. He waits for a beat, ready to bolt, but then the door swings open. 

A grey haired Hispanic man with laugh lines around his eyes answers the door, and inexplicably, smiles wide. 

“Hey Len?” He calls out over his shoulder. “The Milkovich kid is here to see you.” 

Mickey’s eyes widen, and he’s about to ask how the fuck this guy knows who he is (as it’s occuring to him that this must be Carlos), or how the fuck he knows he’s here to see the retired officer. But then he’s being ushered into a small living room with a beat up old blue sofa and a fat basset hound and the cop, sitting in a recliner that matches the sofa. He’s older, now. Grey and kind of pot bellied with a scraggly beard and mustache situation on his face. Mickey stands there, feeling awkward as hell, when the former cop stands up, with a little difficulty. He’s smiling, and Mickey’s never been smiled at by a cop, so it’s a little unsettling. He doesn’t realize it’s just as unsettling for the former officer, to see the kid who had been so bloody, so bruised and cut up and angry, standing in front of him awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, but looking happy and healthy and whole and  _ happy. _

Mickey holds up the bottle. “I’m getting married.” He blurts out, before he thinks about it. 

The cop takes the bottle from his outstretched hand, gestures to the sofa with a smile, and turns to his husband, who’s smiling all soft and warm. Carlos takes the bottle from his husband. Mickey sits, hard.

“I’ll go grab some glasses and something to eat.”

Officer Lenny sits down again, and mutes the TV, which is playing reruns of a Cubs game. “Mickey, right?”

Mickey nods, mute.

“Brad Lenny. Most folks call me Lenny, or Len. It’s good to see you.”

“How does your husband know who I am?”

Lenny laughs warmly. “It’s not every day a Chicago cop gets called to the Alibi for a bar fight, and then shows up to find out Terry Milkovich’s youngest son is coming out to the entire street, you know. I told him about you when I came home. And we do watch the news. I recognized the redhead.” 

“Ian.” Mickey interjects. 

“Ian. We hoped you were okay.”

“We’re getting married.” The words feel like fire in Mickey’s chest, warm and safe and alive.

The old man smiles, mustache twitching. Mickey can hear plates clacking in the other room, and kind of wishes he had something to drink. He stared at the dog, who had looked up when he initially came in, but had gone back to snoring in front of the tv. 

“So. What can I do for you, Mickey?” Lenny asked, voice gentle and calm. 

Carlos walked back in with a tray - a bowl of chips and some kind of dip, and a glass for each of them with whiskey and ice. “I wasn’t sure how you take your whiskey, so I guessed.”

Mickey looked up. “This is fine.” He took a sip, felt the burn down his throat, and breathed through his nose. 

After a moment of quiet, when Carlos had situated himself on the opposite end of the sofa from Mickey and Lenny had taken a sip of his own drink and the dog snuffled in his sleep, the former cop repeated his question. 

“What can I do for you, Mickey?”

Mickey stared at the ice in his glass. “I...I don’t really know. I guess I just wanted to tell somebody.” He looked up. “And…” He gulped. Lenny was looking right at him, but his gaze was soft, non-threatening. “I don’t know, man. I didn’t realize I could get married before you told me you already were. My parents are dead. My siblings, they’re excited, but I don’t think they get why this is a big deal for me, man.” Once he started talking, he wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he couldn’t stop. “I don’t even think Ian realizes what a big deal it is. His family is always so goddamn excited for him. But fuck, man. I’m getting married, for real this time, to a really great guy who really loves me, and I really love him, and I just didn’t think it was possible.” 

Lenny and Carlos watched the young man drain the rest of his glass, and looked at each other briefly. Lenny chose to ignore the “this time,” because it didn’t seem like something that Mickey had meant to say, put his glass down on the side table, and leaned forward. 

“I’m really proud of you, Mickey.” He said, carefully. “That’s really incredible. I’m really proud of you, and I’m really excited for you.”

Mickey looked up, eyes a little glassy. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. You’ve worked really hard to get to this point, and you deserve nothing but the best.”

Mickey choked a little and coughed to cover it up. “Yeah, well. Ian’s pretty fucking great.”

Carlos smiled into his glass. Lenny grinned playfully. “Well, anyone prepared to get into a fist fight with Terry Milkovich on a rampage to defend you is probably okay in my book.”

Mickey laughed out loud at that. “Yeah, yeah, that’s Gallagher all over.” He breathed for a moment, and looked at the digital clock under the tv. “I’ve...I’ve got to head home, though. I guess I just wanted to say thank you.”

Lenny leaned back a little. “Well, listen, Mickey. You ever need anything, or just want to come over, feel free. Bring your husband around sometime, if you want.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes and grabbed a little pad of paper on the low coffee table. “Lenny that is the most useless...Mickey, here. Take his phone number. You can try to text him, but he probably won’t be able to text back.” Mickey snickered, and then took the slip of paper that Carlos was handing him. “Call any time. Unless the Cubs are playing. If you call when the Cubs are playing, we won’t answer.”

Lenny grinned conspiratorially at Mickey. “It’s good to have someone who can remind you how to act around people sometimes.”

Mickey smiled. He stood, sifted a little awkwardly on his feet. Lenny and Carlos both stood. “Well. Uh. Thanks.”

Lenny took a step closer. “Listen, Mickey. I’m serious. Anything. And I want to meet this man of yours. He seems like a real great guy. You both do.”

Mickey blinks. “So, uh. I’ll just…” He gestures towards the door, starts to leave. Then he turns around abruptly. Both men are still standing there, watching him curiously. “Listen, we don’t have official invitations or anything, but, I guess, if you wanted to come…” 

Lenny grins. “We’ll be there.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This would not have happened without deadlymilkovich (on here and on insta) being so willing to listen to me just excitedly ramble about nearly irrelevant background characters, and then being further willing to yell at me to write the fic. So I wrote the fic. Go give him love.
> 
> I pretty much survive exclusively on kudos and comments and external validation, so. Ya know. Send some love. If you have recommendations, or comments, or concerns, or just want to scream into the void, feel free to let me know. I'm here or on Tumblr at iamthececimonster.


End file.
